An Unseen, but Not Unnoticed, Truth
There is an inescapable truth about parenting that cannot be denied by anyone who has ever raised an athlete, hunter, or member of the marching band. Those seemingly unrelated activities are connected in a way that goes unseen, but certainly not unnoticed. They stink. Oh, not that soft, uncomfortable odor of a normal smelly child, one who regularly washes what they use. I’m talking about a deep, soul reaping stench, the kind generated by multiple sweaty moments coalescing into a gel, an actual gel of odor. DARPA should find a way to capture the smell creeping from a soccer bag, sweaty pads, hunting boots, or a wool band uniform worn on a hot September day.
Saying these things smell does not accurately portray the situation and drastically sells short the miraculous ability of parents not to vomit. Parents of these children know what I’m talking about. It’s that moment when your car smells like a crew of construction workers took it on a road trip to Burritofest. It’s the point when your nose physically hurts, your eyes water, you shake your head involuntarily, and for a brief moment, consider giving your child away. It’s the moment you contemplate whether the smell could actually come from a living creature and postulate that perhaps the cat crawled into the trunk of your car while no one was looking and died. It’s the point while considering how to remove the odor you conclude incineration is the only option. The point you decide you’ll pay for a new one, but still can’t dispose of the offending gear for fear your neighbors will smell the garbage and call a homeowner’s meeting carrying pitch forks and torches. It’s the moment you realize there is a legitimate chance the smell could cause you brain damage, yet somehow your child seems not to notice. How can they not notice? Tribesmen in Africa can smell that across the Atlantic. It’s the reason aliens don’t visit Earth.
But somehow, your kid is fine with it. And somehow, you continue to pick them up from the game or practice. You even transport the smelly objects when they forget them. Oh, you smell it, but you come back for more. That, my friends, is true love.
